


the wrong way around

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [49]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, F/M, M/M, Social Justice gone horribly wrong, Teen Pregnancy, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing here, Karkat?” she asks, “I don’t see you for months and now you suddenly drop in out of the blue. I already told you I don’t want to be your side lover.”</p><p>“This isn’t about that.” </p><p>After several months of silence, Karkat finally talks to Vriska. </p><p>Takes place immediately after "hide it from yourself".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. t.g.i.f. (thank god its friday)

**== >Be the mutantblood at lunch **

You’re dumbfounded at what Kanaya tells you. “ _Another_ rise in rent? _Seriously_?”

The jadeblood nods. “Rose said the DD was excitedly discussing it. Since there was a bit of a grub boom in our neighborhood he thinks we have the funds to afford a hike.”

“As if we planned this. Asshole.” Dave grumbles. He’s sitting next to you. Its only people from your neighborhood around since everyone else is giving you a berth of space; behaving like interspecies homoerotic caliginous love is dangerously contagious.

“We have a year before the rent goes up. _If_ it goes up.” Aradia says, “Maybe that’s enough time to build a buffer.”

“Its still dickish.” Tavros grumbles. “Nepeta got a job and only got to work for a few weeks before the strike. Mom and I had a bitch of a time trying to keep the power on and now we just got on top of it. Now it’ll be like before.”

“You could always get a job. Pending…” you say.

“Yeah. _I know_.” Tavros grumbles. You think the idea of another unintended pregnancy is more disturbing to him than he’s willing to admit. “What are doing for grubsitting schedules?”

You look at your iHusk. You promised Terezi, Eridan, Jade, Feferi, and Nepeta to keep them updated about group decisions that they’re not physically present for. Though its hectic to keep the five on one topic. Does pregnancy destroy your focus or were they always like that? After a minute of virtual discussion you say, “Kankri’s offered weekend and evening grubsitting.” There’s groaning all around. “What?”

“No offense Karkat, but Kankri might get a bit overwhelmed with eight grubs.” Kanaya says.

“What about you?” Equius asks.

Kanaya glares at him. “Just because I’m a jadeblood doesn’t make me your automatic grubsitter.”

“She’s right. I wouldn’t trust Porrim with a puppy.” You think she’d consider eating it before petting it. She’s _way_ too much like her father.

“I call Dave’s Dads for grubsitting.” Sollux says.

“Why my Dads? I’m not related to you.” Dave says.

“You kind of are. Your Dads are adopting my sister’s kid.”

Dave groans “Oh my gods. We _are_ kind of related.”

“And your Dad is Jade’s Dad and you brother is Rose’s Dad.” Dave scowls at you. You’re never going to let him live that down.

“They’re going to start calling us the Incest Neighborhood.” Kanaya sighs.

“Nah. We’re the Rednecks. I like it better.” Tavros says, smirking.

“I thought we were Freaks and Geeks?” you ask.

“Filthy hippies is what they’re calling Dave, Jade, _and_ you, by the way.” Sollux says to you. “You’re getting Zamora and her pal’s panties in a bunch.”   

“Who in the _fuck_ is Zamora?” you ask.

Sollux tilts his head and your head swivels in that direction. Two tables over is a group of fidgety trolls; mostly cerulean, indigo, purple, and the shades in-between. Their clothes tell you they’re from the Squalor.

“Zamora’s a self-professed social justice warrior and a member of the NJCOC.” You stare at him and Sollux sighs, “The New Jack Campus Orthodoxian Club. They’re basically the morality police. You remember last year when Aranea wanted to do a curriculum about historical troll paganism? Well the NJCOC complained so she couldn’t do it.”  

“Oh great. Its like having the younger version of Kankri around.” you grumble.

“NJ _Cocksuckers_ is more like it.” Dave says and that makes you smile.

“Her latest campaign is about quadrants and cultural appropriation.” Sollux continues, “She says its wrong for humans to use quadrants because its specifically a troll thing and that its—”

You roll your eyes. “That’s so much bullshit I think even _Kankri_ would be daunted.”

“I think we should put Kankri and Zamora in the same room and see what happens.” Aradia suggests.

“I think the universe would implode.” Equius says.

“Even Kankri would say there’s a difference between cultural appreciation and cultural appropriation, but quadrants are not a troll-exclusive.” Kanaya says, “It holds no special symbolism for us and it was only enforced by past Imperialism. In a post-Imperialist world, we should be allowed to make our own relation choices, I think. Quadrants are just a philosophy and a way to live your life. It would be like calling someone who adheres to the philosophies presented in Buddhism as cultural appropriation.”

“Why are we still even talking about this…?” you groan.

“Is all over the school paper that just came out today.” Sollux says, “I do editing for extra credit.”

You pause. “ _What_.”

“Here.” Dave hands you the school paper, which is printed on cheap recycled paper.

You take the paper and glare at the tiny washed-out ink. “You’ve been _reading it this whole time_? I thought you were squinting at homework or something!”

“I wasn’t squinting.”

“Like hell, Mr. Magoo.”

“And I finished all my homework. Unlike you.” Dave answers.

“I worked on it!” Barely. You fell asleep in the middle of _Wild Swan Lusii_ and had to wake up at four in the morning to get it done. You look at the paper and Zamora Durham’s article is on the front page, talking about cultural appropriation of quadrants and the decay of morality that was interspecies relationships. Trolls and humans are separate for a reason and about the danger of raising children in such a “chaotic environment” and blah blah blah. You toss the paper back at Dave. “So much bullshit. Why are you even reading this rag?”

“I write the music articles.” Dave answers.

 _“You’re in on this too?”_ you ask. 

Sollux shrugs. “Credits are credits, Karkat. You have to have something extra to make your application interesting or to attract a scholarship.” He pauses, “Are you even _going_ to college?”

Oh yeah. Senior year. You might even be able to afford college, pending how much money your grandfather left. “I don’t know.”

“ _Still_? Karkat, this is _senior year_.” Kanaya says, “I know I’m going to business school with a minor in fashion.”

“Trade school is technically college so Gamzee’s going.” Tavros says.

“Where in the hell _is_ Gamzee? He’s like a fucking ninja these days.” you say.

“He’s staying out of trouble.” is Tavros’s vague response.

“He’s a sociopath so staying out of trouble means being invisible.” Equius says.

“Don’t even start.” Tavros growls.

Dave nudges you. “Could always go to school for your erotic writing.”

You glare at him. “I’m not doing that.”

“Erotic writing?” Aradia grins, “Is it online?”

“No!” you insist.

“Yes.” Dave whips out his iHusk, “Sending you the links.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Doing it.”

“I want the link too.” Sollux says.

_“Give me that iHusk, Strider!”_

The result of you attempting to get Dave’s iHusk is you both wrestling on the cafeteria floor. Dave pins you and you yield, grumbling. When he lets you up, you give him a rough kiss. The kiss must have been too sexual because you get a stern lecture from a teacher about inappropriate Public Display of Affection. Dave and you point out its kind of pointless to complain about Public Display of Affection in a school where more than half the class isn’t here because they’re pregnant. Saying this is worth the strike on both your records.  

 

Luck is still not your side today because Zamora Durham visits you. Its at the end of the day when you’re packing up your bags in the locker room. You’re tired and still have got four hours of work to look forward to. You shut your locker and its then Zamora swishes over to you. Judging by eye color she’s a cobaltblood, which puts her…before Equius? After? You have no idea. You paid so little attention to the traditional hemocaste that you’ve forgotten whether cerulean was more or less important than blue. She’s not alone because following her is a hipster douchebag human in a vest and a crocodile.  

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Zamora says, “You’re shaming your trollian ancestors with the way you’re carrying on with Strider. Not that I have anything against humans. I don’t. I’m very much for equality amongst my ape descended kinfolk. I’m very much for interspecies harmony but cavorting in a quadrant based relationship is pointless, not to mention harmful. Trollian-sapien and homo-sapien are separated on a genetic level for a reason. Think of the chaos that would erupt if we somehow crossed over. And the four quadrants are sacred to trolls. A way of life not to be exploited or tossed away in some trifling ‘fad’.”

You open your mouth again but the human speaks up. “And it is harmful to us humans as well! Don’t you know the damage you’re doing? While you occupy Strider, his genetic fluids go to waste. They should be fertilizing some woman and increasing our dwindling population!”

“My genetic fluids should be doing what now?” Dave walks over because he has the timing of Time’s Clockworks himself.

“Your genetic fluids are going to a waste! Do you _want_ humanity to go extinct?” the guy says, shrilly.

“If there are more humans like you, I might be tempted. C’mere, Karkat. I’m going to waste more genetic fluid down your throat and doom humanity.” Dave playfully tugs you close to him.

“Oh my _gods_ ; do not start calling blowjobs that or I will hit you.”

“Your lewdness shows your immaturity but that will not dissuade us.” Zamora says, “I’m only doing this because there is a _severe_ moral decay going on here. My colleague is right in that you’re doing harm to your own genetic pools by spraying each other with it. It’s a waste.”

You stare at her. “Why are you so obsessed with our sex lives? Don’t you have anything better to do? Like, bomb an abortion clinic or harass people at Starboons?”

“Do not compare us to that green terrorist group.” Zamora huffs, “ _We_ are moral crusaders. _We_ are trying to steer our generation from further decay. And why should we not ask? _The_ _Signless_ did not stand by while slavery happened! _He_ took a stand and so should we.”

You feel your chest clench when you hear that name. The Signless. Your grandfather. Your father. Here is this fucking bitch invoking the name of your father— _your godsdamned family_ —for her purposes. You could have tolerated so many things. The inane jargon filled speeches and ass-backwards rhetoric but this, _this_ is too much. 

“ _Do not_ fucking invoke the Signless in this.” You say flatly, “The Signless was about justice for people who were part of a fucking wretched system that _none of them were ever going to fucking escape_. Do you fucking hear me you, you dick mongering doucheshit?  He was defying a system that legitimized murder of the innocent, enslavement of the defiant, and rape for the purpose of reproduction, you fuck-jamming worthless bulgesucker. It has nothing— _absolutely fucking nothing!_ —to do with your ignorant bigoted hemoist racist speciest projects, you shit-smoking grub-fucking ignoramus! _Don’t talk about shit you don’t even understand, you fuckbitching shithead! Get the fuck out of my face, you vomit-inducing crotchstain, before I put my foot through your fucking skull!_ ” 

Dave taps your shoulder. “Whoa. Karkat.”

You whirl at him, _“What?!”_

Dave flicks you on the nose. “Calm the fuck _down_ is what.”

Zamora and her pals are completely mute. In fact, the entire locker room is silent and you’ve attracted a small crowd. You quickly rush out the locker room before anyone can ask what the hell got into you.

 

* * *

 

After work, you go to your old mobilehive and ask Kankri about it. Kankri is in the living room typing while Terezi’s asleep in their recuperacoon.  

“I don’t get it.” you sigh. “I just…went _off_ when she brought up Grandpa.”

“If the Dolorosa is to be believed, my father behaved the same way in the early days of coming to this planet.” Kankri responds, “It was a shock to see his message misconstrued in such a way. ‘Disheartening’, I believe is the best word.”

“I know.” You grunt.

Kankri raises an eyebrow. “Karkat, you’ve been having…the _dreams_ haven’t you? Father’s memories.”

“Yeah. Since I started my heat cycle actually. I’m _him_ in them.” You admit. “Have you had them?”

Kankri stares off into the distance, then leans away from his laptop. “I’m never so lucky.”

“What do you see?”

“Things I don’t like to remember. They’re not pleasant...a lot of chaos and…blood; blended primordial sex and violence. ‘Monsters from the id’ is what you would call _my_ visions. I don’t have them anymore.” He looks at you. “I don’t think you should have them either.”

“But its helping me understand so much about Grandpa.” you say. “Seeing the home planet is so…words can’t describe how _amazing_ it. Its like he’s still alive and guiding me.”

“ _Karkat_.” Kankri touches your shoulder, “Its not good to focus on the past. You can get trapped in there, wishing for what will never be. Take my word for it.”

“I will.” but you don’t want the visions to go away. First they were unsettling but now it’s a connection to your father.

“There’s also the issue of…well, us authors call it an ‘unreliable narrator’.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Kankri rubs his chin, “What you see are your father’s memories, yes? Everything is as _he_ remembers it. It means you are hearing a story secondhand and memory is a faulty thing. Father had a long history of addiction and mental illness. I’m sure there are discrepancies in some of the memories that would not line up with the facts.”

“So far my memories have been about Alternia. Although…in the beginning, my visions were jumbled. I had this…I guess, it was a short vision about the Grandpa and Dolorosa hiding out in a cave and then the Grand Highblood came and…” Now you’re not sure if it was just a nightmare about your anxieties concerning Gamzee. Was it a premonition of what was going to happen to you in that hidden harem? Your stomach lurches. “Then, I had another vision about Grandpa wandering around. He met some modern trolls...they were from Aniline End, I think, and coming out of a factory.”

“I don’t know the exact dates but I believe Father and the others arrived on New Earth in the Seventh Age, the 2070s. They went their separate ways for a while and my father wasn’t found until the Eighth Age, in the 2080s. I think it was 2088 or 2089 because I was born during the time they found him. But there’s a discrepancy with your first memory.”

You frown. “We _know_ what the Grand Highblood did.”

“Yes, but I know the Dolorosa _found_ Father in a cave and the Grand Highblood was with her. They were looking for him because he was at the height of his addiction. He wasn’t in a good condition. Are you sure what you saw was the truth or a hallucination?”

“How can you be sure it _wasn’t_ the truth?”

Kankri and you look at each other. You’re father and son but you’re also brothers. He’s always going to doubt your father and you’re always going to side with him.

“The person to ask,” Kankri sighs, “is Porrim. She’s the keeper of family secrets and the Dolorosa was her mother. _She’d_ know the truth. I can only guess at my father’s behaviors and motivations.”

“ _Our_ father.” You remind him but Kankri shrugs and returns to his writing.

You leave the couch and go check on Terezi. She’s lying in her recuperacoon, belly up and half awake. “How long have you been here?”

“Since nine thirty.” You walk over to her and give her a very pale kiss. “How are you doing?”

“Bloated.” is the grumbling response.

Vriska can’t be doing much better. “You’re gonna be a great Mom.”

“I can’t wait until they leave.”

“Could be worse. Could be quadruplets.”

She shudders. “I don’t know how some trolls do that.”

“Same.” You reach into the recuperacoon and hold her sopor slick hand. “Do you want me there when you lay?”

“I don’t even want _myself_ there.” 

“I could help…”

“Karkat, _please._ ” She smiles. “I know you want to help but you shouldn’t do anything outside of your comfort zone. You don’t do well with blood. Remember our field trip to the farm factory?” 

“I was _ten_!” It had been a boring trip. The school had packed you onto buses and sent you to the mass-production farms on the edge of South New Jack. It was supposed to be an educational trip sponsored by the always family-friendly “calorie companies”—NEBio and Apexcom—but the factory conditions overshadowed any educational value. There were two sources of meat: grown in a vat and printed out using ectobiology and overgrown beasts with mangled genes and obscene muscles. They were hooked into machines that kept alive with tubes. During the trip, one of the muscle animals had a fit and started vomiting blood. Terezi asked what smelled like cherries and you fainted right away.

Terezi smirks. “Its still funny.”

“You only thought it was funny because you couldn’t _see_ it.”

“I knew it was blood. I just wanted to see who would pass out first if I said that. And it was you. _Of course_.” Terezi holds your hand close to her stomach.

“One of them is really moving around.” You comment.

“That one’s yours. The teal. They’re a pain.”

“How come the one that’s a pain in the ass is mine?”  

“Because its _you_. Kankri said you were the same when he was pregnant. Couldn’t wait to escape.”

“They’ll be glad to have space from each other.”

Terezi yawns and you give her a goodbye kiss and leave the mobilehive.


	2. appointment with the spider

The next day you get up early for work. Saturdays are busy at the bar, full of loud Trussians relaxing from a hard week of work. Sergei is back to normal but Dom is more lenient. He even lets you go early. Its too humid to go anywhere so Mievil, Laclan, and you lounge in the bar with the customers. 

“Going to see your old lady today?” Mievil asks.

“Yeah.” you sigh. “I’m going from here to the Squalor to see her.” Its been three months since you last saw Vriska. From what Kanaya said, she spends her weekends lounging at home and then goes out with Nektan in the evenings.

“Isn’t she a cerulean?” Laclan asks.

“Yeah? So?” you ask.

“Karkat, you’ve been working all day. You smell like sweat, raw meat, and vegetables. She’s going to be grossed out.” Laclan sighs.

“Its not like I’m going to impress her. I’m a short mutantblood and she’s…” She’s the most beautiful troll you’ve ever met and you want to give her all the kisses; all of them.

Mievil and Laclan look at each other. Mievil stands, “ _Nope_! This won’t stand! As a patron of romance, this can’t be tolerated!”

“ _What_ …?” you ask.

Laclan grabs your arm. “You’re sabotaging yourself before you even get started!”

“You need _help_ if you’re going to charm her.” Mievil adds.

“What? Where are we even going?” you ask.

They ignore your protests and drag you upstairs. The employees live in refurbished tenements; crowded but better than sleeping in a ditch or in Aniline End. It resembles more of a dorm. The gas and power lines have been retooled to supply power to downstairs and a central cooking and bathing area upstairs. There are only bunk beds, which makes sense considering how many ex-sopor addicts lived here. Laclan and Mievil make you use the group shower, and then change your work clothes for someone else’s. Laclan brushes your hair into a manageable style.

“I’m still in work clothes!” you protest.

“Yeah, but this one’s washed, so the smell of soap covers up the food smell.” Laclan says, “Gods, you have the most stubborn hair in the world. Its like trying to brush steel wool. All these _angles_ and _points_ …”

“Its _Vantas_ hair.” You say proudly.

“It must be. No wonder Sergei cuts his so short.” Laclan grunts.

“You should bring her a bouquet of flowers.” Mievil suggests.

“Do you know how _expensive_ a bouquet is?” You’re a _practical_ romantic.

“Well, what does she like?”

“Vriska? Playing RPGs and role-playing as the scourge of the seas.”

“Aww, she’s a nerd too. That’s _adorable_.” Laclan chuckles.

“I am not a nerd.”

“Karkat, we caught you reading and writing trashy romance novels. That makes you the best kind of nerd.” Mievil laughs, “You should write her a romantic gamblignant novel, or get her commissioned art of her role-playing character.”

“I’m supposed to see her in _ten minutes_.” You grumble.

“Is there anything she likes? It doesn’t have to be expensive, just thoughtful. You don’t want to approach your would-be matesprit empty handed.” Laclan adds.

“Well,” you consider, “she likes breaking balls.” Laclan and Mievil exchange a look, “ _Not like that!_ She likes to break magic eight-balls. One time she stole a whole bunch and we spent an afternoon smashing them. We must have destroyed like ten.” It had been a lot of fun. Why did you stop hanging out with her?

“Sounds like someone you’d be into.” Laclan snickers, “What else?”

“She likes doomsday stuff. End of the world scenarios and devices...” You pause, “Maybe I could get her a book or something about making bombs from scratch or turning household items into weapons.”

“If you can find something like that in ten minutes.” Mievil says.

“It doesn’t hurt to look.”

They release you, judging that they did the best they could and gave you a fighting chance. You go to the Super Walmart—which is packed but worth it—and buy eight magic eight-balls. There are no books about doomsday devices but plenty about gamblignants so you get _Gamblignants—Predators of the Seas: An Illustrated History._ You have the people at customer services wrap the gifts in a nice blue box with a red bow. You’re making good time when you get to the Squalor. You approach the townhouse, take a deep breath, and knock at the door. Alright. Here we go.

It takes a few minutes before the door opens. Vriska’s face is slick with sweat and there are bags under her eyes. You wish you brought her food instead of a gift. “Vriska…?”

Vriska takes a few seconds to recognize you. “Karkat?”

“I…wanted to see you.”

She lets you inside and slowly walks to the couch. The apartment is slightly less bare but still mostly empty. You sit next to her. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

Vriska rubs her left temple. “No. Headaches.” She looks at you up and down. “Is that really you?”

“Of _course_ its me. Who else would it be?” Vriska eyes narrow and she shrugs. You’re starting to feel worried. “Do you need aspirin?”

Vriska shakes her head. “I asked my mother. Aspirin doesn’t work on psionic headaches. I’d take sopor tablets but you’re not supposed to take them while pregnant.”

If Vriska asked Aranea for help, she must be desperate. Now you feel bad for bothering her. You hear skittering and stand, thinking its a rat. Instead a small lusus walks into the room. It’s a scorpion with bright cerulean eyes.

“Some kid’s pet…?” you ask.

“Snippy.” Vriska says, smiling. “Our kid’s lusus.”

“Seriously?” You reach out to poke the lusus but it snaps a claw at you. Its having _none_ of that. “How is this shrimp supposed to protect our kid?”

Vriska smirks, “He’s poisonous.”

“How poisonous?”

“You’re about to find out.”

Snippy is sizing you up, his tail moving from side to side. He snaps a claw at you. “ _Hey_!” You squirm up on the couch, hiding your feet. Vriska laughs and you glare at her, “Oh great. The lusus hates me.”

“He hates everyone he doesn’t know. And take your shoes off if you’re going to have your feet on my couch.” Vriska bends over as much as she can with her stomach and pats the lusus. It purrs and she purrs back. “I’m thinking about getting another one. Maybe a big spider.”

“Oh god. Like we don’t have enough giant lusus running around.” You take off your shoes, dropping them on the floor. You are thankful Snippy is making her happy. More than you’ve accomplished so far.

“What are you doing here, Karkat?” she asks, “I don’t see you for months and now you suddenly drop in out of the blue. I already told you I don’t want to be your side lover.”

“This isn’t about that.” You hand her the box. “Here.”

Vriska sighs and opens the box. When she sees the eight magic eight-balls, she smiles slightly. “You remember the balls, huh? I’d almost forgotten…”

“We did break a lot of them.” You say, smiling. Vriska shakes one of the eight-balls. “Why _did_ you have so many magic eight-balls?”

“I always wanted a magic object like my grandmother’s dies.” Vriska shuts her eyes, “She had so many stories. So many adventures but…I loved to hear about the Fluorite Octet.”

“I’d like to hear about it too.”

Vriska smiles slightly. “When my grandmother was six sweeps, she set out into the world to find her fortune. In the mountains, she found an old rustblood malender, but she was really a hankyman.” You give her a look. “A malender is a farmer, and a hankyman is a magician.” You nod and she continues, “The old rustblood let her stay at her farm and said ‘I will reward you mightily if you pass my eight trials’. So grandmother bested the old rustblood in seven trials but the eighth trial was impossible.”

“What was the eighth?”

“To channel the East Beforan queen’s spirit into a new body.”

You did not see that coming. “The old rustblood was East Beforan?”

Vriska nods and continues, “My grandmother was a gifted psionic but she couldn’t raise the dead. No one can. So she asked a favor of her moirail, Darkleer, and Darkleer hewed a body of iron and silver, with steel hair and unblinking bright red eyes. He played puppeteer while my grandmother made it appear to the old rustblood that the dead queen had returned to life in a metal body. The old rustblood was so overjoyed that she immediately surrendered her treasure to my grandmother: The Diadem of the Last East Beforan Mikado. It was weighed down with diamonds, pearls, sapphire, emeralds, rubies…and in the center was a giant hunk of blue fluorite. Grandmother took the Diadem and fled with Darkleer.

“The old rustblood embraced the metal puppet and realized she had been deceived. So she cursed grandmother as she fled. She shouted ‘Seven times you’ll have the lucky call but the eighth shall undo it all!’ and then she fell down dead on the spot.”  

“Fell down dead?”

Vriska nods, “Fell down dead. She was ancient according to grandmother and must’ve had a heart attack.” She shrugs, “Or maybe grandmother killed her and ran. I wouldn’t know.” 

“So,” you say, “eight is actually an _unlucky_ number.”

“The number of death,” She squints at the magic eight-ball, “but I don’t fear death, no Serket does, so eight is _our_ number. We _are_ death. Grandmother never considered the curse. She had Darkleer tear apart the Diadem and used it to build her legacy. She used the diamonds to buy her weapons and mighty ships. She gave Darkleer the sapphires and he used the money to become one of the most powerful money lenders and bankers on Alternia. She gave the rubies to her kismesis Dualscar with which he commissioned his mightiest weapon, Ahab’s Crosshairs. She gave the emeralds to the Grand Highblood to decorate his most treasured skull in his Mirthful Citadel. And to the Condesce, she gave the pearls and the East Beforan circlet, saying ‘This is what remains of your enemy’. The Condesce had the circlet dipped in gold and that became _her_ crown. The Condesce dubbed Mindfang the first landdweller to be a royal privateer. As for the blue fluorite, Grandmother kept it and had it carved into the Octet.”

 

 

“So what happened to the Octet? I know Aranea has what looks like a die on her necklace but is that the real thing?”

“I don’t know. When the Summoner disappeared, Grandma waited seven days for him to return. And on the eighth day, she put seven of the Octet in a lead-lined box and gave the eighth to my mother. She told Mom to hide it where no one would find it, but if Uncle Rufioh and her were ever in trouble, she should find it and use it again: no matter the consequences.”

“So, the magic eight-balls are like your magical Octets?”

“No. Magic’s fake as shit.” Vriska frowns at the eight-ball. You can’t see what it says. “I thought I could have amazing adventures and a cool legacy like grandma and be my own gamblignant. Then I realized…I lived in a trailer park, I could barely swim, and boats cost a fortune I could never have. So…I smashed all my eight-balls.”

You should tell her that you have enough money to buy her all the boats she wants. Fuck, you should buy her a godsdamned pirate ship and leave this fucking city behind. You could go to Shongolia and spend the rest of your days digging for clams.

Could you leave though? Could you pack up everything and leave Terezi, Dave, Eridan, Kankri and everyone else to rot in the toxic mud and plastic? Could you walk away from your family and friends? Would you do it for her?

You realize that you could do it. You should do it. But you can’t because tearing yourself from the others would hurt too much. Your grandfather preached romance beyond quadrants and you now know no matter what romantic philosophies you adhere to—singular human love, trollian quads, the nine charms— _everyone_ is connected. You’re all together in this, wrapped around fate’s fingers in ways you couldn’t understand. Maybe for this lifetime, or all other lifetimes unto eternity.

Vriska is staring at you. Is she disappointed that you’re not promising to take her away? Is she jealous that you have Dave, Kankri, Eridan, and so many others while she struck out on her own? You can’t read her tired expression. You’re both tired. The energy’s been drained out of the room. Even the light looks gray and lifeless.

You look at the eight-ball in her hands. “What did you ask it?”

Slowly, she smirks. “None of your fucking business, _Vantass_.”

She makes you so angry sometimes. You flush her so fucking much. You kiss her and pull her into your arms. Her lips and breath are cold. It gives you chills and you want more of her. Sex is out of the question but you want intimacy more than anything. You want her chilled temperature and her claws scraping your back. You want your teeth on her throat and her tongue in her mouth. You get all your wishes. The box falls on the floor, scattering eight balls. They roll to every corner of the room and Snippy goes chasing after them. You hold her as much as you can. Gods, you wish you were taller and could carry her right out of here. Instead you lay there and feel the shared warmth and chill between you.  

“I flush you.” You whisper.

 

 

“I know.” She blinks and a tear leaks out. She scowls and rubs at her eye socket, “Fuck you, you fucking asshole _hormones._ ” She looks at you, eyes wet, “Where in the hell have you been, Karkat? Its been four fucking months and _now_ you drop in?”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You admit, “I didn’t feel right approaching you after what happened. Like I was…” Filthy and not worth being in her presence. “You’re so beautiful Vriska,” you whisper, like a flush-sick fool, “you’re so beautiful and I flush you and I don’t want anything to taint that.”

Vriska’s skeptical of your praise but still cerulean in the face, “I’m not _that_ beautiful. I’ve got a freaky eye and I’m a huge bitch.”

“I didn’t say you _weren’t_ a huge bitch.” You say, “Let’s be honest. You backstab, lie, cheat, steal, you’re obsessed with power, and have a hard-on for creepy crawlies.” You purr and bump horns with her, “I think the only kind of person I can flush is a dickish person.”

“You sound caliginous.”

“People have their definition of flush—” You wave your hand, dismissing those outsiders, “—we have ours. Our flush is chaotic but its red. End of story.”

“End of story...” Vriska looks at the ceiling. You hear Snippy rolling around eight-balls. He must be having fun too. “I don’t want to go back to the trailer park. It’s depressing. Its where people’s dreams go to die.”

You can’t argue that. “I don’t want to live here. I like grass and trees and not having to boil my water before I drink it.”

“You really should. The trailer park and the Squalor are on the same water and power grid.”

That explains your urinary tract infection in early August. “Still, I’m not an inner city guy.”

“And I hate dealing with those hicks.” Vriska sits up slowly, minding her stomach. “So we can’t live together.”

“We don’t _have_ to live together.” You smile, “Pregnant spiders are territorial. Soon you’ll have your baby spider.”

“Scorpion.” Vriska says. “They don’t sell spider lusus on the East Coast. They’re too dangerous.”

“Highly poisonous?”

“Volatile appetites and psionic manipulation.” Vriska slowly stands, “You didn’t hear about that sapphireblood family that bought a spider lusus four years ago? In Chiquago? A year later the police found out it ate everyone in the neighborhood except for the youngest kid of its family. They had to keep feeding their spider mother no matter what. Completely brainwashed, so they were banned.”

“Sounds farfetched. I mean… _everyone_ in the neighborhood?”

“It was a secluded one but who knows? They’ve been banned. That’s all I know.”

“Well, you already have a lusus but I’ll come by every weekend.”

“No.”

“No?” You frown. “Why not?”

Vriska frowns, “I already told you and Kanaya. I’m going to the hospital alone.”

You guess you’ll just have to live with it. You kiss her, “Alright. I’ll see you afterward then.”

You promise to see her next Saturday and then take the bus home. When you return to your neighborhood it’s eerily quiet. No one’s sitting on their porch or tending their piecemeal gardens. At your mobilehive, Dave and Jade are sitting on the couch; Dave protectively has his arm around her shoulder.

“What happened?” you ask.  

“Roxy got a…delivery.” Dave says, “Someone mailed her two snakes with their heads cut off.”

“And three of her cats disappeared.” Jade adds. Her eyes are wet and her voice flat.

“It could be a coincidence.” You offer, hoping to cheer the human up as you sit next to her. “They were strays. They didn’t legally belong to Roxy. Maybe they’ll come back.”

“It’s a warning.” Dave mutters. “ _Two_ snakes with the heads cut off. Not one.”

“It may be just a warning. Maybe…nothing will happen.”

Jade looks grim. “You haven’t read _it_ have you?”

“Read what?”

“The Green Girl Report. Its a—” Jade’s face suddenly looks more green than usual. She bolts from the couch in direction of the bathroom. Thankfully she makes it to the toilet.

You look at Dave. “Is she feeling alright? She wasn’t sick like this yesterday.”

“Pregnancy’s not how it is in the movies.” Dave says. “You don’t get morning sickness once and then its gone forever. You get sensitive to smells, tastes, certain…topics.”

“This situation isn’t good for her nerves.”

“No,” Dave rubs the bridge of his nose. “its not good for _anyone’s_ nerves.”

You want to ask him how Lalonde is doing but Dave isn’t the best person when it comes to being under pressure. Jade leaves the bathroom for the bedroom.  She’s going to be out like a light. You move closer to the human male and rest your head on his shoulders.

“Let’s strife.” you purr.

“You make it sound like we’re going to have sex.”

“It is like sex without all the fluids except for sweat.”

Dave smirks. “No point. I’d wipe the floor with your chubby ass.”

“Like hell you would. I’ve been learning how to kick ass. I think its time I practiced on someone else.”

“What’s in it for me? Since I’m going to win anyways.”

“Loser cooks dinner and picks out the evening movie. It’s _Employee of the Month_ if I win.”

“Oh my gods. _No_. I will murder you and hide the body if you make me watch anything else involving fucking Troll Dane Cook.” You think he wanted to punch you in the face when you picked out _Troll Dane Cook: Harmful If Swallowed_ in revenge for him making you sit through _Louis C.K.: Chewed Up._

You smirk. “Then you better win.”

Dave smirks back. “We’re watching _Troll_ _Donnie Darko_ because I’m going to win, fat ass. Do you even know how to use a sword?” Dave asks.

“I’m learning how to use a sickle.” So far you had cut yourself only once.

“Then we’ll go barehanded. I don’t want to stick you in the ribs since you don’t know how to block or evade.”

You smirk, “Can’t keep your hands off of me, huh? Way to keep the romance alive.”

“Yeah, that’s totally what I want.” Dave walks to the back door, “Come on, chubs.”

You go to the backyard and strip to your waists. The strife goes on longer than both of you originally thought. You get a few good hits in but Dave gets you in a headlock. You get out of it by pinching Dave’s inner thigh. Forty five minutes later, you’re panting and lying on the grass, equally exhausted and bruised.

“I’m willing to call a truce and let Jade pick the movie.” Dave pants.

“Okay. I, Karkat Vantas, officialize the truce between the Vantases and the Striders that’ll last until next time we try to beat the shit out of each other.” You pant.

You help each other up and stagger back inside. Jade freaks out when she sees you, thinking you had a terrible fight. It takes a few minutes to calm her down. Afterward you make dinner for all three of you. Dave’s happy your cooking’s improved but grouchy about being a health regiment with Jade and you. Jade has already lectured him about eating nothing but white bread, chips, and apple juice. She’s happy to pick out the movie though and selects _Return to Oz_. You saw it years ago with your grandfather but its scarier than you remember. Dave looks unsettled by the rage of the Nome King. You’re more troubled about the implication of Dorothy almost getting electroshock therapy; it makes you think of Amethyst.

You don’t sleep well that night.

In your dreams, you are your grandfather, sitting in the abandoned transport tunnels of the city. The native homeless have accepted you stragglers. Some of them have even joined your mottled group, abandoning their haggard clothes for your shabby grey cloaks. You are just thankful the abandoned transport tunnels are large enough to allow everyone their own space. Nothing fancy but you’re not open in the open.

Pollux walks over to you as you’re roasting figs over the small fire. “What’s wrong, Kankri?” You look at him. “You've been silent since we left the marketplace.”

You don’t look at your moirail. “Today in the market we saw a violetblood skewer a brownblood for ‘speaking out of turn’, and we did nothing and said nothing.”

“It’s the way things are, Kankri.” Pollux says, “Why do you think there’s so many trolls down here in the first place? I heard that the only reason the city lets people stay down here is that they’re happy the lowbloods are out of sight.”

You don’t respond. All you can remember is the smell of blood in the air and Mother tugging you along. If you stared too long, you’d be singled out as an outsider and not just another piece of lowblood detritus. “This system cannot stand.” you say, firmly.

“Kankri…” Pollux shakes his head, “You should be more worried about your quads. You’re going to reach adult molt soon. Do you have a kismesis in mind? A matesprit?”

“Its not right.”

Pollux frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re against quadrants.”

“I am not againstanything!” you say, frustrated, “I understand quadrants and the necessity of auspisticism and moiraillegiance but I fail to understand compulsory pailing. What for? So that our offspring will be spirited away and become fodder for the Imperial Army that oppresses the innocent? Why must we trolls be so rigid in our romances? There is no quadrant for how I feel toward Mother or my kin.”

“Kankri, let’s be practical now and save the revolutionary ideas for later.” Pollux sits next to you. “The drone will kill you if you don’t have two pails filled during your first sweep of adulthood. Do you have anyone in mind?” You don’t answer and you say, “What about Simhan? Or that tealblood?”

You’re repulsed by the idea of pailing the tealblood. “She’s _sick,_ Pollux! I doubt she’d survive it and its obvious she’s still flushes her matesprit.”

“You spend a lot of time with her.” Pollux says which is true but you always considered the ex-legislacerator to be a comrade in spirit. “I’m sure she’d be more open minded if you mentioned it to her. Maybe ask her name?”

You had already asked her, time and time again. “She won’t tell us her name. Can’t you see, Pollux? She’s afraid and knows she doesn’t have long. There’s something wrong with her and not just physically…” A broken vascular pump, a shattered spirit, and a mutilated soul. Things you couldn’t heal and that fact tore you up inside in a way you didn’t understand.

“You’re making Simhan jealous. You could always go for caliginous with her and flush for the teal.” Pollux says.

“Gods below _and_ above.” You grunt at Pollux’s refusal to drop this subject and stand. “If I talk to her, will you let this be?”

“I’m only looking out for you.”

“You, Mother, and everyone else.”

You’re sick of being coddled. When you’re not the esteemed leader, you’re the fragile little troll who doesn’t understand civilization. You leave Pollux for the tealblood’s lean-to. Usually she is talking with the seadweller child in whispers but he’s absent. You’re happy to be alone with the tealblood and sit next to her. She hasn’t moved in nights, lying immobile on a bedding of moldy blankets and discarded furs. Her cheekbones are starting to protrude.

You open your mouth but the tealblood speaks first. “Kankri, I don’t have much time left so I must be honest with you.” She can only speak in hoarse whispers. “I know I protested the most about returning to this city but…I didn’t want to be separated from you. These last few sweeps of my life have been miserable without my matesprit but you…remind me of him. You’re kind and gentle…he too was a mutant.”

“Mutant?” you ask, “Like my blood color?”

“No…a yellowblood, like your friend.” says the tealblood. “He was conscripted to power the Condesce’s battleship for the rest of his life. I only got to see him during the pailing season. I wanted to see not only him but other yellows freed. I formed a group…but we were betrayed. I was disbarred and tortured, then cast out into the wastes to die…”

You grind your teeth. “Who was the betrayer?”

She shakes her head as much as she could. “My vengeance shouldn’t be yours. My descendant lives on the outskirts of this city…which is why I’ve held on for as long as possible…”

“Adults aren’t supposed to mingle with children.” Even having a child amongst your kin was taboo. “And how are you to find them? You can’t move.”

“I sent Sinann. He knows her. He can find her.” The tealblood smiled slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but…when we came to this city and Sinann told me…I thought it was destiny’s hand guiding me. Sinann is a smart boy. He survived in the sand wastes on mud and his intelligence alone. He may be minor noble but his wits make up for that.”

So that was the name of her little seadweller. You touch the tealblood’s hand, which is warmer than normal. “You’re running a fever.”

“Don’t start fussing over me. After the things I endured…its amazing I lasted this long. What with the fits…what did you want to talk to me about?” She sees your reluctance and chuckles, “Oh, Kankri. You can’t be...red? For a broken thing like me?”

“I could fix you.” You can’t and it hurts your vascular pump that you can’t.

“Kankri. I’m at the end of my lifespan. I’d have a fit if I tried to pail. Kankri…” She must see the dismay fluid building in your eyes. “… _Kankri_ , there’s plenty of others...”

“Yes...” You leave her side because if you don’t, you’re going to start losing your dismay fluids all over yourself. You leave the lean-to but don’t return to the small fire where Pollux is sitting, now accompanied by Mother.

You leave the camp and walk into the abandoned transport tunnels, far from the others. Its not wise but you don’t care. You need to be alone. You find yourself a quiet spot in the tunnels and flop down on the decaying remains of a lost lusus. You feel like a musclebeast has trampled your vascular pump and you don’t know why. You curl into a ball and try to ignore the ache in your chest.

You don’t know how long you’re in the tunnel before you hear footsteps. You sit up and whip out your sickle. At first you think a troll but then you see its finer features as it gets close. Its pale as a maggot, with infected broken horns. Its body is malformed: long arms and bent legs so it has to move on all fours. Veins pulse on its swollen bald head, lumpy with cancerous growths. Its body is knotted with scars and pocketed with infected wounds.

“What do you want…?” you ask, though you should be asking _What in the_ fuck _are you?_

If the creature is sentient, it has no interest in talking. It opens its mouth and you see the glint of sharp teeth. It charges, howling incoherently. You slice and stab but the creature’s skin is tough. Its claws dig into your shoulder, trying to wench your arm out of the socket. You slice off two fingers and that encourages it to let go but your shoulder is bruised and bloodied from its dirty claws. You can’t handle this beast with just a sickle, so you run. The creature snarls and chases after you. You hear more mad howling as other creatures join the hunt.

 

 

The tunnel creatures are persistent and their howls echo. You see a light coming toward you and a sweet smell fills the dank tunnels. Simham is running, holding up a torch. She runs past you and brandishes the torch like a sword, swinging it at the monstrosities. The creatures shriek and flee; scrambling over each other as they retreat back into the darkness.

Your vascular pump is pounding and your shoulder aching. “Where did you come from?”

“You’re easy to track. The shadowdroppers must have been stalking you for a while.”

“ _Those_ were shadowdroppers?” You mutter. “I thought they lived outside in the sand wastes with the rainbow drinkers”

“They’re a _type_ of shadowdropper.” replies Simham, specifying, “I talked to the locals. They say shadowdroppers are smart. During dark season they nest in the caverns and hunt in the daylight. Sometimes they get bold and stalk the tunnel stragglers, so the people down here have this.” She held up the torch. “Used sugarcane stalks from the waste heaps. They hate the smell.”

“They didn’t look like monsters…they looked like… _trolls._ ”

“I guess you could say…they’re not _real_ shadowdroppers.” Simham shrugs. “One of the coldbloods said there were no shadowdroppers when they were a wriggler. Those shadowdroppers are from an experiment by the Condesce to see if she could make trolls who could tolerate the sun. A sneak-attack army for when her enemies were cocooned in their hives. She used purpleblood soldiers but it went wrong. Some of them escaped…now they’re more feral than I ever was.”

“They’re sick. They were made sick by _her_.” That glittering tyrant that ruled everyone’s life from afar. “They need medical treatment, not scorn. I could help them…”

“We’re not medicullers and they’re dangerous. They would’ve eaten you.”

She is right. You can’t heal anyone. Simham turns away, walking back to camp. “Come on. You need your shoulder looked at before it gets infected.”

You say nothing and trudge after her. You ponder: could you learn to flush Simham? There’s nothing too red or black about your relationship. When you think of flushing someone that isn’t that teal—that soul damaged both physically and mentally—your vascular pump hurts. What will you do? Time won’t stop just because you’re confused.

 

* * *

 

 

You are Karkat again and you wake up with a throbbing headache and a pinching pain your back. You ignore it and climb out of bed so you can feed Sonny Jr. and Bec. You still don’t like the barkfiend but you’ve made peace for the sake of cohabitation. Bec chomps down her food and then demands pets while you refill Sonny Jr.’s kiddy pool. Your back is hurting so you don’t linger outside. By the time you get to the couch your knees are aching too.

Dave exits the bathroom and squints at you since he’s not wearing his shades. It takes him a minute to realize that grey blob in front of him is you. “Fuck, its early. What are you doing up?”

“Damned if I know.” You mutter.

Dave sits on the couch next to you. “Its like a sauna in here.” Sonny Jr. walks in shaking off water. He walks over to Dave and head-butts his hand. “Hey, Crabby.”

“You mean him or me?”

“Both.” Dave says, petting Sonny Jr.

“So _you’re_ the one who’s been feeding him scraps. I thought it was Jade.” you say. Your left arm is itching but you ignore it.

Sonny Jr. climbs into Dave’s lap and shuts his eyes, clicking in happiness. Dave smiles and scratches the lusus’s back. “Guilty. He was so small and hungry when you brought him here, I couldn’t help feeding him.”

“Yeah, but now he’s huge.” You say, yawning. You wince when you feel a pain in your gums. “Its humid as fuck. We should go swimming.”

“Unless you want to deal with assholes, we’ll have to go out to East New Jack to find a nice pool.”

“I fucking hate pools. Let’s find a lake.”

“Oh yeah, cause lakes in New Jack are _so nice_. Like that time the Jackspers _caught on fire_.”

“That was when we were kids and the Jackspers River is closer to West New Jack than—”

The dull throbbing in your gum intensifies into a sharp pain. Hot blood spurts into your mouth and something dislodges. You spit out a fang. Your left arm is itching more and when you finally scratch it, your skin tears away like ancient paper.

“Oh… _for fuck’s sake_.” You groan, tossing away the skin. Dave moves away from the discarded skin. Your headache is starting to get worse.

Your heat cycle came late. Your adult molt is coming early.  

 


End file.
